


Rain and the Apathetic Drone of Adult Life

by orphan_account



Category: Original Work
Genre: Agony, Also in Class, Disturbing Themes, Gen, I Wrote This While Listening to Kikuo, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Original Fiction, POV First Person, Short Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:08:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27282421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Hello, this is just a little short story that I wrote up expecting for it to be absolute trash, but it turned out kinda nice, so yep, posting it.Just a warning, this story has rather dark themes such as suicide, so if that's not your cup of tea then probably don't read it.





	Rain and the Apathetic Drone of Adult Life

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, this is just a little short story that I wrote up expecting for it to be absolute trash, but it turned out kinda nice, so yep, posting it.
> 
> Just a warning, this story has rather dark themes such as suicide, so if that's not your cup of tea then probably don't read it.

I wake up to the dull beeping of my alarm clock, signifying that it’s time for yet another day of work. I do the same as usual, stand up, go to my shower, careful not to disturb the plastic and metal cage around my chest. I wash my face, dry my hair, brush my teeth, and get dressed. 

As I’m eating my breakfast of brightly colored cereal, I barely feel the old contents of my stomach being pushed through the tubes attached to my waist. When I first got them installed, it was a painful and weird feeling for weeks, but I’ve gotten used to it since then. It’s just numb.

I was skeptical about the surgery when my boss suggested that I get it, even though it would increase my productivity and give me more time for work and leisure. 

“It’s just like the cage, just plastic and metal to improve your quality of life. We’re even paying for it in full.” He had said. 

“I don’t know sir. I’ll think it over.”

After a few weeks of pestering, my buddy got fired. I was unsure if it was because he refused to get the surgery, but it seemed likely. He was always so diligent… so unless something happened I had to get the surgery. I didn’t have a choice, but it wouldn’t cost me money so I accepted. Besides, I knew I wasn’t going to get hired anywhere else. I couldn’t afford to be out of work for a day, much less whatever amount of time it would take to get a new job.

Soon I was finished with breakfast, and it was time for my commute. Into my grey company-issued car, wearing my grey shirt and black tie and slacks. 

It takes me about 30 minutes to get from my house to work, and the radio is on as always, blasting some sort of generic pop music. I have the option to change the station, but the volume can’t be below a certain threshold. I have a choice between oldies and this shit, and the oldies just make me sad and nostalgic for a time I wasn’t even alive, so I stick to this channel, even though it makes my brain feel like it’s turning into soup.

Time drags on and on, and I notice the plastic cage is feeling unusually tight. I need to go and get a resize sometime.

When I step out into the parking lot, the streets smell as foul and metallic as usual. The streets haven’t been cleaned yet this month, so residual blood and feces is piled high around the storm drains, though it doesn’t really matter. Hasn’t rained in years. There’s a thick sludge pooling at the center of the road, and the drone of construction machines makes the air feel dense.

They still haven’t changed how often they clean the streets even after the surgery was popularized. They used to only need to do it once a month, but the past few years have been dreadful. What used to pile up over the course of weeks now only takes days, and the government has done nothing about it.

I push open the glass door to the decontamination chamber attached outside of my office and kick off my overshoes. Most people wear them nowadays given how filthy it is outside, so our workplace was kind enough to install a shoe rack.

As soon as I sit down at my desk, I forget. Forget what day of the week it is, what month it is. What I did today, what I did yesterday. It’s all melded together. Daily life is repetitive, droning on forever and ever. It feels like it’s been this way for decades. I’m only 30-something years old, and yet here I am, as jaded as someone ripe for retirement. Fuck.

My lunch break is short, a tray of stale bread and peas is ejected from the wall and I am to eat it as fast as I can. I have 10 minutes to finish, or I have to throw out the leftovers. I used to be a slow eater, and a picky one too, but maturity has taught me to take things as fast and greedily as I can instead of savoring, just like everyone else.

More work comes, writing down meaningless figures in spreadsheets, tracking profits. I pause for a little while too long once or twice and the whining static that constantly fills my head seems to grow so intense that my skull might crack open. 

Eventually, the bell in my room rings, signifying that it’s time for me to go home. I close my computer, pack up my things, and step into the hall. When I look out of the singular window at the end, I notice something strange. Droplets of rain falling from the sky in thick sheets. It’s raining. God, it’s been so long I forgot what it looked like.

I pause for a few minutes when I step onto the street, letting the chilly water soak me. I’m sure I look crazy, but I don’t really care. 

I remember my childhood, playing in the streets with my friends, not caring about the rain. My jeans always got covered with mud, even if I wore boots. The weather had been so much different back then. As I got older, I stopped playing, bringing a coat and an umbrella every time the clouds blocked out the sun, and gradually it had rained less and less. I wonder why it had rained today, after being dry for so many years. 

I step into my car, the cheap pleather seat getting covered in rainwater, and I just sit there, staring out the windshield. I hesitantly flip down the sun visor in front of me and slide open the door, revealing a small mirror. I study my own reflection. My black hair is soaking wet, my dark eyes blank and tired. I genuinely can’t remember the last time I actually paid attention to what I looked like. A feeling of unease washes over me, my chest tightening. 

I snap out of it and lock the sun visor back into place, turning the key in the ignition. The pop music starts up again, and I want nothing more than for it to stop. I can’t drive without my car being on though, so I’ll have to deal with it.

The rain continues as I drive down the road. It’s a bleak, hopeless sort of weather, but it’s better than the tiring sun beating down on me every day. Our star is supposed to represent happiness, but to me, it just means another day of unsatisfying work.

All too soon, I’m home. I consider just standing there in the driveway until it gets dark, but something deep inside of me tells me that it’s pointless. I step inside of my home, not even caring that my damp clothes are dripping water all over the ground. The hardwood floors will be ruined, but I keep my house dark, so it doesn’t much matter.

I stick to my usual routine, making myself a bowl of ramen from a plastic package and sitting down in front of my tv. I turn on a program at random and try my best to get immersed, to no avail. I feel my pulse in my ears, in my hands, in my throat. My heart is beating louder than ever. I look down and my entire body is trembling.

I can’t get this thought out of my head. The thought that the rain today was a sign. A sign that I need to make a change, the only change I can make.

I bolt upright, knocking the bowl of noodles off of my lap and onto the floor. Its white porcelain shatters onto the floor, liquid and ramen spilled all over. I’m walking to my room, my head filled with only one thought, as if I’m being pulled by an invisible force. I turn the knob and step over to my dresser, opening the top drawer. It’s empty except for a black leather case, secured by a silver latch. I open it, my hands still shaking.

Sitting inside of the case on a pillow of blood-red velvet is an antique pistol, one that my dad gave to me before I moved out.

“Use this to protect yourself, son. There will be a time in your life when you need it most, and there’s only one bullet left, so make it count.”

His words echo around inside my skull. Maybe this is what he meant by protecting myself. Maybe he saw this coming, this desolate and meaningless future.

I carefully pick up the gun. Its barrel is inlaid with all sorts of delicate patterns, which I trace with my finger.

As suddenly as they appeared, the thoughts flush out of my head. My body feels steady. I sigh, set the pistol back in its place, close the case, and close the drawer. I’m exhausted. I’m already in my room, so I walk over to my mattress and let myself fall backward. I don’t even take off my clothes, or dry my hair, or clean up the spill in my living room.

For the first time in my life, I fall into a truly restful sleep. No dreams, no interruptions, no disturbances.

Just an endless pitch-black void.


End file.
